


nowhere else to go (but home)

by JustClem



Series: An Amber's Price [7]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, amberprice, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustClem/pseuds/JustClem
Summary: Chloe stops being angry when Rachel shows up with blood all over herself and a haze in her eyes that tells her she needs help.





	nowhere else to go (but home)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I try to normally keep a jovial tone in my A/Ns because, well, I don't want to dampen your mood with my drama, but FUCK, this is TOO MUCH.
> 
> TOO. FUCKING. MUCH.
> 
> Not only did my mom book a place for us to stay WITHOUT consulting my dad, she didn't try to get in-contact with the owners AT ALL. She just upped and booked a house for a few days, not knowing that the owners would STILL BE SLEEPING WITH US. 
> 
> WE'RE LIVING WITH GODDAMN STRANGERS.
> 
> And not only THAT, the heathers here SUCKS. Bad enough I, a tropical girl NOT AT ALL USED TO WEATHERS BELOW 25 DEGREES, have to go to QUEENSTOWN (and, like, yeah, it's beautiful, but I'm so, so fucking cold it's not even funny), I can't even get a good night rest because the heather is too small. GOD.
> 
> I am literally sitting down NEXT TO THE HEATER as we speak. It's so terribly cold, and I feel horrible. Fuck.
> 
> ... Yeah, sorry about that, I'm just... yeah, um, so, moving on, this was written from July 29th, 8:18PM until the next day, 9:37PM. Enjoy.

Chloe paces around the room, angry. Of course, she's always angry, irrationally so. She's Chloe Price, the punk badass with loads of baggage; anger is her middle name.

But tonight, she's angry with a reason.

"_You need to back off, Chloe,"_ echoes the 'calm, peaceful talk' with Rachel, making her shut her eyes and hyperventilate. Her room is small, so small, and she needs space. She needs to tear these walls apart to give herself more space, more air to breathe.

So Chloe tears the walls. Or tries to, anyway. What she ends up doing is rip away the posters she's chosen without a care in the world. The posters she hangs up less because of actual interest, and more to piss of Joyce and Sergeant Dickhead.

"_Why are you acting like this, Chloe?"_

Ah. A mini globe. Why not break it?

So Chloe breaks it by slamming it down to the floor. She loved that thing. Loved to twirl it and watch it go round and round and round. What a shitty thing.

"_Jeez, Chloe. You're acting like we're dating, or something."_

Posters. More posters, ripped apart by claw-like hands. And things. Useless things she never uses and never throws away. They break into more useless pieces. Things. Most things are useless. She is the prime, priceless example of that.

"_That's it, Chloe! We're through!"_

The name Chloe, her name, spoken in many different variations.

Rachel sings as she speaks. With every word is a note, a string of notes, a melody, a lullaby. It's why everyone loves her. When they hear her, they hear music. And who would ever want to stop hearing music? Rachel sings. Even as she speaks, she sings.

And tonight, she has sung the song of Chloe's broken heart.

And now it's all over. Just. Just like that, huh? Just- just with a snap of the finger. A couple of words. One silly mistake. And that's it. It's all over. Boom. Goodbye, Chloe. See ya, Chloe. Never gonna miss ya, Chloe. Hope you die, Chloe.

Yeah, hah. What a load of bull. It's all bullshit anyway. Rachel is bullshit. And Chloe is a bigger bullshit for believing Rachel is anything but bullshit. For believing she's not as big of a bullshit as everyone else. For hoping she'd be a different kind of bullshit. It's all bullshit.

Heh. Oh, Price, what a fucking idiot you are.

So Chloe tears, and Chloe slams, and Chloe destroys, because that's all she's ever good at; tearing her relationships apart, slamming the door that would let other people in, and destroying her own heart with her obsessed, clingy self.

Oh, is that a fresh, unopened beer can, right there? Oh, wait, no. That's from the one from three days ago. It's probably, like, full of ants by now.

Chloe finds herself chugging the half-empty can anyway, because who knows? Maybe she'll die from alcohol poisoning. Or maybe from the ants that, like, invades her organs and chews out her intestines n' shit.

Maybe.

Yeah. No. She's not that lucky. She'll live to see another day, unfortunately.

Finishing off her stale-ass beer and surrounded by the chaos she's created is when she hears the doorbell ringing.

Chloe groans because there's only one person who ever uses the doorbell, and that person is the very bitch that's told her she needed to back the fuck off literally hours ago.

Yeah, there's no way she's going to answer that door.

The bell keeps on ringing, and ringing, and ringing. Nonstop. It's like whoever's out there doesn't want to waste their time waiting, and is in a rush, and can't afford anymore BS.

Chloe opens the door on the seventh ring, biting words locked and loaded and ready to fire, like bullets, only to freeze.

Rachel isn't standing. She's leaning onto the wall. She's disheveled, and flushed, and pale.

There are smears of blood all over her face, tainting her white top with a gross brown-ish red color.

And there's a glassy haze in her eyes.

A haze that says she's not quite there, and she desperately needs help.

"Heeeey, Chloe…" Her words slur. Rachel pushes herself off of the wall only to stumble back. Chloe, on instinct, grabs her. Rachel chuckles, finding something funny. "Didn't know where else to go…"

And Rachel slumps into unconsciousness, crashing right into Chloe's chest, forcing Chloe to take a few steps back and add more weight to her feet. "R-Rachel? Rachel, hey! Wake up!"

Rachel disobeys her.

She whimpers and clutches at Chloe's shirt like it'll keep her from drowning, but she doesn't wake up.

"Rachel…"

That's when Chloe notices the rips in Rachel's shirt. And the smears of blood and dirt and grass all over her like a fucked-up decoration. And the small swells of red surrounding her wrists.

Oh God.

Chloe hoists Rachel up, bridal-carry, and calls out for her mother and David only to remember that they're on a trip to visit David's grandparents over the weekend. Fuck.

Small trails of tears keep falling down from Rachel's face, and Chloe, for once, isn't angry. Well, she is, she always is, she's Chloe Price for fuck's sake, but more than that she's scared. She's so fucking scared. What the fuck happened?

Deep down, Chloe already knows. She's not as airheaded as she acts to be. But she doesn't want to think about it, much less believe it. She'd rather it be a prank. A sick, unfunny prank, but a prank nonetheless.

It's loads better than the alternative.

She drops Rachel onto her bed gentler than she's dropped any girl onto her bed. Gentler than she's dropped herself onto her bed. Not that that says much.

"Shit, shit, shit, aaaah, okay."

She rubs her hands, and wonders if she should Google what to do. Maybe she should call Stepdouche. Yeah, that's probably a good idea.

She calls Stepdouche. No answer.

"Fuck!"

Joyce. Joyce might answer.

She does not.

Double fuck. Mega, ultra fuck.

Chloe considers straight up calling the cops, but one glance at Rachel's frail form makes her reconsider. No, it's not a good idea, probably. What if- what if Rachel doesn't want to go to the cops? What if she'll end up getting interrogated or, worse, blamed for falling victim of- of- of whatever it is that happened. Chloe's read about it, how sometimes the victims are the ones getting blamed. How they're laughed at and frowned upon. How they're told that they're overreacting. 

Rachel whimpers, and the decision is made without a real thought.

Chloe is on auto-pilot, checking in for bruises and scrapes. Normally, the roles are reversed, due to Chloe and her skill of somehow finding herself in every kind of trouble imaginable. Chloe would've preferred it staying that way, for things to stay the same and never change, especially not into something like this.

None of the wounds are deep, or all that serious. They're red lines. Scratches. The kind you get from getting in contact with branches. Chloe would know. She's done it many times as a kid, and even more times as an adult.

There's only a slight fever. Rachel's forehead is warm. And she sometimes breathes through her nose. And shivers. Chloe wraps up her blankets around her, and she stops shivering. Good. That's good. Probably. Yeah.

Chloe paces, angry. She wants to ruin her already-ruined room, but she doesn't want to keep Rachel from her rest, so she paces some more.

She goes through her contacts one more time. Joyce and David won't answer. She doubts Trevor or Justin would be of much help. Or anyone, really. Is there anyone in Arcadia Bay that can be trusted in this situation?

Chloe tries to think of an answer, and shudders when she finds none.

She's already cleaned up the small scratches. Every single one of them. And then she goes over through them again, because she's scared she missed a spot. And one last time, just- just to make sure, you know? You never know, after all.

Fuck. This is the first time she wishes David was home.

Chloe lies down when she has nothing better to do. She tries to sleep, then realises her bedroom door is unlocked, and locks it. She tries again, then realises the front door is unlocked, and unlocks her bedroom door to go downstairs and lock it. Half-way through the stairs, she realises the some of the windows are still open, and closes them. Once inside, she realises her window is open, and closes it.

She checks twice to make sure her door is locked.

That's when she lies down again.

And she can't sleep. She can't even close her eyes. She keeps darting her eyes to Rachel's form, before darting all throughout the dark, searching and seeing things that aren't there.

Her heart beats painfully loud and strong for hours.

Rachel wakes up when the sky is transitioning from pitch black into a murky shade of purple.

She wakes up crying, and moaning, and muttering "please" and "no" and Chloe bites her lip so hard it bleeds.

"Rachel. Rachel, hey…"

Chloe touches Rachel at the cheek - just the faintest of touches - but Rachel flinches away from the notion, distraught coloring her half-conscious face.

She turns and tries to move, tries to do something, but she's too weak, still under the influence of- of whatever it is that's pumped into her vessels. Something other than weed or booze. Something even burnout nobodies like Chloe stay away from.

Rachel's eyes shot open, like someone's pinched her, and a gasp tears from her lips. She chokes and splutters and groans and- fuck, fuck, fuck, the fuck happened to you, Rach?

She stills, and breathes heavily and faintly, as if she doesn't want someone to hear her breathe, as if the mere thought of it would get her in trouble.

"Rachel." Chloe must've sounded rough and cold, because Rachel flinches. Chloe softens her tone with a clear of the throat, her hand hovering over Rachel's body, not sure what to do with it. "Rachel, hey. It's me…"

And then Rachel looks at Chloe. And Chloe swallows to keep herself from crying and screaming at how utterly bewildered Rachel looks.

"Chloe?" Fuck. Her voice is so small, so scratchy, and so, so broken. She sounds and looks like she wants to believe Chloe really is here, but can't; like she doesn't know what to believe anymore.

Chloe wants to fix all of her shit just so she can break them all over again.

"It's me, Rachel. It's really me. You're safe, Rachel. You're safe with me."

Because no matter how much of a fuck-up Chloe is, she won't ever, ever hurt Rachel. Not in that way. Never that way. Not to anyone. Never.

Rachel breaks. For once, it's not Chloe's fault. For once, Chloe is there to catch her, instead of being the one to push her down.

And there's a small part of Chloe somewhere that must've realized how serious this is, and how badly she needs to stop acting like a shithead, and grow the fuck up already, because suddenly Chloe is soft words and strong arms and dependable and she's letting Rachel bawl it all out, shushing her like a mother hen, or something.

And Rachel's too scared to care.

Somewhere between the "I'm here"s and the "You're safe"s exists a small, inaudible "I'm sorry" and "It's all my fault", and the longer time passes, the more those two self-blaming words take more of the spotlight.

And Rachel is too broken to hear.

All she says are "Chloe, Chloe, _Chloe_" and "I didn't know. I should've known but I didn't. I _didn't_" and a weird mix of both.

Rachel collapses as the sun rises.

The morning is muted. And all Chloe can hear is Rachel's breathing, her own breathing, and the white noise of her shitty, broken fan she ought to fix, always buzzing and fluttering, never-ending.

Chloe moves so Rachel's on top of her. She guides her so her head nestles into Chloe's neck, and her face rests on Chloe's collarbone. Her cheek presses right against Chloe's heart, and Chloe wonders if Rachel can hear just how big the drummings of her heartbeat is.

"Chloe…"

Rachel's hands weakly drag themselves from Chloe's wrists, all the way up to her forearm, until they find Chloe's shoulder. She grabs at the straps of Chloe's top and squeezes, unwilling to let go after two tries of prying from Chloe.

"I'll never let you go, Rachel. Never again."

"Chloe, I should've-"

"Hush." Chloe strokes Rachel's hair, and feels Rachel slowly diving into slumber. "Just sleep, yeah?"

"I don't remember what happened." Her voice, breathy, tickles the skin poking out of her top's thin fabric. With how loose it is, Chloe is basically topless. "I don't remember how I got out…"

"We'll figure it out." Chloe kisses the top of Rachel's head and smells jasmine. It's not lustful. It's not full of nervousness and hesitance. It's something different. Something she's never experienced before. Something stronger than crushes or make-outs. Something… stable. "We'll figure it out together."

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes. I finally did it, folks. For the first time EVER, I wrote my story title in ALL lowercase - not to mention the "( )" deal.
> 
> The writing here is a lot more casual than my usual style. It feels a little like a 1st Person POV disguised as a 3rd Person one. It was actually kind of fun to try and maximise Chloe's "Chloe-ness" in this story.
> 
> I've been seriously considering doing it for a long time. But I didn't want to because it'll be weird since I usually type in titles normally - with capitals where it's due, and stuff. But… well, yeah. Why not?
> 
> So, I don't know why I wrote this, exactly, other than the fact that I'd like to try and explore what would happen if Rachel had somehow survived The Dark Room. I've gotten plenty of stories revolving a universe where Rachel never entered it - or ones where it never existed - but there are few where it explores Rachel having to deal with the aftermatch of it.


End file.
